


A beautiful soul ; a beautiful song

by Chaol



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera References, also, loosely based on paganini
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaol/pseuds/Chaol
Summary: Elain Archeron and her family have fallen from from comfortable wealth to poverty, yet things begin to change when a gift is left for her... And soon she wins the favor of a powerful patron.
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. chapter one: through dulcet tones even beasts begin to slumber

**Author's Note:**

> This is based loosely ( very ) around Phantom of the Opera and the legends of Paganini. Artistic liberty has been taken liberally with both.

An anonymous gift had arrived on her doorstep - Elain written in elegant script. Nesta had been slightly interested, but upon seeing the contents - abandoned her momentary envy. Feyre had been happy for her - but perhaps, a tinge of jealousy that she’d been favored. The gift came wrapped in velvet, silken ribbon tied around it’s case; within lay a violin -- long since had lessons been abandoned, there had simply been no money. Yet with eager fingers she reached within the case to draw the instrument to her, it was featherlight - and something about it felt …  _ right _ . 

For weeks she practiced, until Nesta groaned for her to be silent, until Feyre stormed out bow in hand. Their father had listened though, he’d applauded and praised; he always had time to praise her. Soon even the neighbors began to gather, Nesta began to linger, and Feyre listened with a curious expression. Music gave voice to feelings long kept inside, there was no money for sheets of music, so she simply played - and she played until her gentle hands wore calluses and her feet grew weary from standing.

Invited to the local manor house to perform - she was even paid for it! They bought meat for winter, and seeds for her garden, paints for Feyre, and a ribbon of steely blue for Nesta. The more she played the better she felt, her music became her voice, became her weapon. Playing became what she thought about and even what she dreamt about. 

One day - she danced around her garden, her song lifted to the breeze with springs gentle petals, a figure appeared. Cloaked in shadows and wearing darkness like a skin - he stands across the field, near the woods where the tendrils of shadows end. It felt as if her song couldn’t reach him, gently drifting near - but never quite lifting the veil. Elain decides that her song must reach him, that her music must ease the burden that he bears to be so alone in shadows.

Spring turns to Summer, gentle blooms burst into bold ones - the sun rises high in the sky. Yet every day the shadowed man still watches, and every night she dreams of how to reach him. Autumn drifts towards them, with trembling leaves falling like glittering gold and scorching firelight, the shadows lengthened. Dusk fell earlier -- and the line of woods seemed closer than ever as she stood in her autumn garden - her violin at her feet as she finished tucking leaves around her cabbages for warmth.

Surprise shows on her features as she sees the man, only now he stands at the small fence of her garden. Honey golden eyes follow her movements, she smiles - it is what is polite to do after all. “I’ve seen you, standing in the shadows. Didn’t you hear? My song wanted you to come closer - to come nearer and hear everything it had to say.” The shadowed man unfurls his wings - blocking out the light -- “I heard your song, but I could not come. I could not come until the shadows lengthened, until the darkness grew nearer, until they allowed me near.” 

His voice is as rich as warm long cooked stew, heady with spices and beef - wings stretch behind him, they are as black as midnight, absorbing the light around them. Yet Elain does not balk, she rises from her cabbages, dusts the dirt from her hands and squares her shoulders. “It is not the shadows to keep you from my song, if I give it - then it is mine. Shadows and darkness be damned!” A slow smile appears on the shadowed man's lips, they are full and look as if to kiss them might taste of sweet sins and promises she’d long for him to keep. “Then if you will play, I will listen. I will hear what your songs have to say for me.” 

Elain cocked her head, a smile on her lips - “Come back tomorrow. I’ll play for you then. And every day as long as you will stay until Spring comes and chases you back to your woods and shadows.” Surprise colored his features, standing as away as he had, there had been something so delicate and soft about her countenance that he had not expected steel. Yet pleasure shows as he nods, and before he retreats to the darkness, he gives her a gift. “Azriel. My name is Azriel.”

The next day came, and so did he. Azriel stood outside her garden gate and listened as she played. The songs she played he’d never heard before, nor had she - she played what she felt, and she felt something within him call to her - and it was her music that answered. This went on for days - he arrived, and she played. Gifts would appear on her doorstep overnight, a side of meat, dry goods, bolts of cloth, blankets, winter blooming roses that grew only in the depths of the woods - no name, no note - but she knew. 

It was the most comfortable winter they’d had in years, Feyre ventured less often into the woods, Nesta had her small luxuries, and their father could pretend they were not down in the world. No one asked her where they came from, even if they had she’d never tell. Because her shadowed man wore wings of black, and molten honey that spoke of more than she’d ever care to see. 

One day at last, she invited him to her garden. She stepped aside, gate held wide - “Your shadows may come, they will not frighten the coming spring away.” Hesitance bears in the man's careful steps, “If my shadows may come, may my darkness?” Her laughter is sweet as with a sweeping arm she gestures him in, “Bring them in, see if I care. I have lived through bitter nights and empty stomachs, depthless grief and aching sorrows. I have held the hands of those I loved and still felt alone - your shadows and darkness cannot frighten me. I am stronger than the storms, braver than the torrents, and brighter than your shadows.”

The world seems to shift on its axis as his foot laid upon her sacred ground, but she could not be dimmed. Standing still now, the darkness retreats - the shadows lick up his skin like eager pets. “Do you know who I am? Whose darkness you invited in? Did you play your songs to win my favor? So I might grant you wishes?” His voice rumbles like a storm in the distance now, he is beautiful in his shadows - but she is shining in her light as she steps forward to him. “You are Azriel, and I am Elain. You are tied to shadows, but you bring goodness without demands. Did you not know that I knew? Each gift you leave, a shadow stays behind to ensure it is mine. Your shadows aren’t unkind, your darkness isn’t terror - it is who you are.”

With a hand that bears the scars of many burns - he reaches to catch a snowflake that has landed on her hair. Caught on his fingertip it begins to melt, yet he brings it to his lips - breathing upon it. And there grows a perfect snowdrops bloom - he tucks it in her hair where the flake had fallen. “It is not often that shadows are allowed to create.” That snowdrop blossom was hidden within her drawer that night, tucked away safe - tucked away in shadows.

Days begin to lengthen, frost begins to thaw, and the woodlands shadows begin to draw away from her garden. The sun rises higher in the sky and he can stay less each day, Elain will not mourn springs coming, but she will perhaps feel grief for her shadowed companion. 

One day they stand at the fence, her fingers brushing his as he draws away - forced back until their fingers break contact. “Elain - summon me with your song tomorrow. Call me and I might make a deal, a bargain so that you will have all that you desire, you will want for nothing ---.” 

For the first time his words bothered her, bargain? Deal? All of her desires? She didn’t play the next day. In fact she didn’t play for nearly a week. There was a weight in her soul that wouldn’t budge - and then one day, the warmest day they’d had since last autumn - she plays. Calling to him as she knows her song always does. He’s there - at her garden gate, golden eyes filled with sorrow. “Today is the last day I can come to your song. It is the last day I can offer you this -- your soul in exchange for immortality and wealth - to be with me always -- to never be from my side, to want for nothing, for your family to bask in your wealth -- I can give you all of that.” 

A furrow rests between her brows, her golden brown hair shining in the springs warming sunshine. “Who gave me the violin Azriel? Was it you?” Silence, before a nod. “You looked so sorrowful, standing in your garden - your voice unheard amid your sisters, your father’s praises empty -- you deserved a voice. You deserved your song.” He had bargained away something of his own for this violin he gave her, for it was no ordinary violin. Tears prick at her eyes, grief building in her chest as she raises her gaze to his. “I cannot give you my soul, because I cannot give up my song. I can only give you my heart -- but it isn’t enough for your bargains and deals. Because even with beautiful wings and gentle heart, only demons come with shadows and darkness. Only demons desire your soul --.” 

The heart she would give him breaks as she draws away, retreating to the sunlit garden, away from the gate where he stands. Azriel gave her music as a voice, and it found her very soul to dwell within - and no matter the love she felt, she would not give back the gift he had given her first. Because it was a voice that demanded to be heard; Elain could not give him her soul because she could not erase her music. So pervasive was it within her that without it -- she would cease to exist.


	2. chapter two: it was not an inability; but a recreation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale piece to the musical demon au - I hope you like it!
>
>> Love is not an emotion demons can have. Yet it is not an inability to love, but an ability that changes them. Because a demon who can love, is little more than a man. And so Azriel was a man now. A man with a home, a man with a garden, a man with a business -- a man who sought to earn back the love of the one who had set him free.

Madness only had driven him to beg her to relinquish the gift he’d given and join him, for he’d known when he’d given such a gift that fate would entwine her soul and her music. Though she had suffered without a real voice for so long, now she had one. The demon knew it was wrong to ask her to languish without her voice. So there was no argument, only retreat. Shadows drew him deeper now, his soul shuttered within him - the part that had longed and loved shut away and caged lest he weaken. 

For her voice and her song held power not even he could understand, or perhaps it was a power he had underestimated. Again she played for her neighbors, she played for her friends, she played for her family, and though he could no longer stand in her garden - she played for him. Even in the depths of his forest he felt the peace her song had given him, each day the jail of shadows cracked that little bit more, each day he would step foot again towards the sunlit path that took him to her.

Shadows had formed him, darkness had raised him, but he would betray that love and caring to follow her. That was his way, that was his nature. Yet immediately he did not rush to her side, proclaim himself changed, and begin again. Instead he made himself a man.

A man who took to work, he created things and he sold them - demons could not create things. They could only barter and trade. Yet he made things and sold them for fair prices, never taking a coin more than they were worth. This reputation for honesty spread, soon he was a merchant, soon he could afford a store, he could afford land, and he could afford to build a home.

Elain heard of this mysterious trader who had come to their village, but there was no thought to who he could be, nor really any interest. She had no need of trade goods nor merchandise. Her demon had left her well supplied, and her music provided income for she and her family. Yet one day Feyre sat and listened, Elain’s songs had grown sadder - she played more now as dusk fell and as the stars heightened in the sky than when the bright light of dawn shone down upon her garden.

“You still call him don’t you? Every night when you stand in your garden with the gate wide open. Those songs are to bring him back aren’t they? He cannot come back to you sweet Elain. Demons cannot love, no more than they can make -- they barter and trade and only ever to win. The demon showed you no kindness, gave you nothing without taking something in return.” 

Practicality and common knowledge fueled Feyre’s poor opinion of the man she’d seen in her sisters garden. Despite Elain knowing well the words her sister spoke, she could not help but feel anger and even disappointment in them. Reality it seemed played little role in the grieving process.

“Azriel took nothing from me, gained nothing except the songs. I gave him nothing. I asked for nothing except he stand in my garden. Stand and listen --.” There’s a melancholy note to her voice as she glanced out the window towards the long shadows of the dark forest where he’d walked away one final time.

“Elain ---.”

A sharp nod from Elain, “Feyre you did not know him. You cannot know him. You cannot judge me for who I call with my song.” 

Something breaks in her voice, a final cracking of her heart. At last she has accepted it, he cannot come to her because she rejected him. It was more than the changing of the season, it was more than the ending of the song she had played for him for so long, she had sent him away and he would not break that. 

Rushing from the cottage Elain goes to her garden, tears streaming down her cheeks as they flush in the brisk winds. Handfuls of the flowers ripped up as she rent them from the soil. Rage and aching loneliness rise in her chest until she feels as if she is choking. Grief at last takes hold and she is on her knees, torn flowers scattered around her as dirt covered hands come to cover her face as she sobs. 

\--

Months pass, winter fades to spring, grows to summer, and passes into autumn. A year passed since Elain has seen her demon. Yet the demon is a demon no longer. When he comes - there is a knock on the door, a bouquet of autumn flowers in his hand. Shadows no longer flock around him, nor sunbeams skitter to avoid his step. A man stands before her with honey golden eyes, callused hands that have created and made, a man whose lips part to speak -- and then are silenced as her arms encircle him.

Love is not an emotion demons can have. Yet it is not an inability to love, but an ability that changes them. Because a demon who can love, is little more than a man. And so Azriel was a man now. A man with a home, a man with a garden, a man with a business -- a man who sought to earn back the love of the one who had set him free.

Elain did not play her song for him that day, nor any others - because she had no need to call him to her anymore. He was hers. And she was his. Their house was a raucous affair, with ever increasing numbers of children, with music pouring from opened windows, with flowers festooned in every room. Azriel worked and created. Elain sang and played, she danced and baked, and there was no end to the things she might do when her husband was home. After all -- there were an ever increasing number of children.

A demon gave a girl a voice she’d never had, a girl gave a demon a use for a heart he’d never used, and together they created the greatest act of creation the world has ever known. Because the voiceless and the heartless, had made a home that burst with love and music.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first solo fanfic - ahhh I hope you like it! If you do please leave kudos or comments so I know y'all are interested in the second part!


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